


Sugar Coating

by seekingjets (0fsilver)



Series: Bad Business [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bad Business au, Domesticity, Fraternization, Humanformers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Not Beta Read, Stubborn Men, Transformers as Humans, cybertron - earth au, the author's inability to understand how business works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 22:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14247561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0fsilver/pseuds/seekingjets
Summary: There was no point to the evening, no conversations which needed to be had. Just brief proof that sometimes they can be kind to one another.---Aka: Megatron wants a weekend off. Starscream answers his door.





	Sugar Coating

**Author's Note:**

> Human au. Set in earth-a-nized(?) Cybertron. Why? Because it’s easier for me to write.
> 
> A domestically challenged short, before the terrible-bad-no-good-naughty break up implied in: "around midnight".
> 
> Please excuse any egregious grammatical errors and misspellings, I’m never one to edit past a general review.

 

Saturday afternoons usually found Megatron pouring over additional work in the dark tower what served as his main office buildings center of downtown. Soundwave waiting outside the double doors turning away any would-be distractions, ever the silent and fearsome dragon at the gates. The building (which employees had long since dubbed a citadel and Megatron enjoyed the comparison) was hardly ever empty on the weekend, but his main creative force was usually found absent. Living whatever lives they might entertain outside of their dark offices. This allowed Megatron some much needed stillness without Shockwave bursting in with sensational news of whatever microbe he’s mutated (much appreciated doting and fond language strewn in between every arranged sentence). Or Scrapper cautiously asking for budget increases to their latest construction projects.

At least, that’s how Megatron once fondly remembered the weekends.  His office as of late had become a revolving door of subordinates abruptly incapable of handling their own divisions to the point not even Saturdays held the same peaceful charm as they once had leaving even Soundwave defenseless against the rising number of visitors with complaint or carefully worded request.

Friday held a new level of chaos, of the likes Megatron had not suffered since their shotgun offices by the docks all those years ago. The fact he was required to raise his voice to clear his waiting room of begging ingrates had been enough that he sent Soundwave home early and driven himself out of the building before the final wave of intruders could catch his office unguarded.

Megatron passed the exit which might lead to his own home and instead headed a (growing more and more familiar) street to glossy high rises to the home of the only person Megatron knew would never dare to enter work on a Saturday.

Which lead him to Saturday morning with his head pillowed in Starscream’s lap as the Seeker lifted the throw pillow off his face and asked “Are you dead yet?”

“No.” Megatron answered for the second time that day and the man scoffed in disbelief, but didn’t return to his half hearted attempts at _smothering_ him.

Friday, upon Megatron’s unannounced arrival at his residence, Starscream had permitted him entrance through the secure doors only to stare at his employer with suspicion and unease. Standing at his door with arms crossed already changed from his work attire and settled in for the weekend. At 3:00 pm on a Friday.

“I wasn’t feeling well.” He lied immediately at Megatron’s approach. Clearly assuming his arrival was due to the obvious fact that Starscream was paid to clock out at 5:00 pm at the earliest. That the young man had been leaving work on Fridays no later than 2 for the past three months, Megatron chose not to address.

“Then consider this  a courtesy check up, for my ailing employee.” Megatron brushed past Starscream’s shoulder and moving into the apartment. Clean. Sparse living. Everything in its place (What little the man brought with him from his family’s estate).  Black panel walls with inset bookshelves baring crystal shapes and impersonal trinkets which Megatron knew meant _nothing_ to the Seeker. He moved on to the granite top cabinet which housed liquors Starscream had only recently begun keeping in his home, helping himself to a heavy pour from a dark bottle while his employee watched him from the entryway.

“So, this is a thing you do now? Show up and drink my alcohol without invitation?” Expensive teeth peeking out from his sneer.

“You drink scotch now?” They both knew he didn’t, that the scotch was a miniscule sign of hospitality now that Megatron spent an alarming number of nights at the pristine apartment. “Or am I interrupting something?” He didn’t bother looking around as if expecting Starscream to have a guest. The Seeker wouldn’t have been so crude as to invite him up in the first place had he not been alone.

Megatron bites down on a distinctly upsetting thought, of what he might do had Starscream not allowed him up, but that did not matter now.

“You’re so dramatic.” That was the devil calling another evil. “I just hadn’t expected you is all.”

And why should he? There had only been one time before that Megatron had approached Starscream’s home without the young man in tow, and that was to pick him up for an investors banquet so the other wouldn’t be two hours late..As he always was to important functions. Claiming _fashion_ as his excuse and squawking when Megatron would make a move as if to spill wine on his expensive suits as punishment. All the other times Starscream would either have Megatron invited up “for a drink” after a day of work. Or, like the investor’s banquet, they stumbled into the nearest cab and pawed their way up to Starscream’s home. Mouths drunk off too sweet of wine while Starscream made a compelling case for defiling the elevator.

Showing up sober and alone was new territory for them, but Megatron was more focused on hiding from his other employees who might have expected to corner him tomorrow.

“Have you eaten?” From any other mouth the question might have a hint of concern, the way Megatron was swallowing down his drink, but Starscream only sounded disturbed. “Don’t chug something that expensive!” It wasn’t an expensive bottle, Starscream had only picked it for it’s looks and gold trim.

“Are you offering to make me dinner?”

“God no.” The Seeker snapped much to Megatron’s relief. He could trust Starscream (mostly) with highly combustible materials in his work...but something as simple as boiling water might kill them both. “I was intending to go out.”

“Order in.” He knew of five restaurants _worthy_ of Starscream’s palate. “You can even make me pay.” Setting the drink down he tosses the coat yet to be removed at the young man. Watching with small amusement as Starscream lunges to catch it, realizes he was caught making an effort, and lets it fall to the ground from his arms. The man was about to complain, likely tell Megatron to do the deed himself, but he wasn’t fast enough before Megatron was already making himself comfortable on the leather sectional. Ignoring any further comment.

And that was their evening. Sharing space in Starscream’s home while the young man fussed as Megatron left his tie on the coffee table. Disagreeing with his employer on Mixmaster’s alternative-fuel refining methods and reminding the Seeker _why_ he’d lost supervision of the project in the first place. (They would never get that lab rebuilt.)

They ate their meal out of the containers, Starscream perched on his own dining room table like some parakeet wanting the high ground. Stealing Megatron’s fork midair to eat against being warned twice to stop.

“You shouldn’t have gotten the salmon if you wanted steak.”

“I didn’t want steak.”

“Then stop eating mine.” He growled and physically removed his dish from Starscream’s grasp the next attempt he made for his Châteaubriand. Dining with Starscream was a greatly different experience than the many late-night meals with Soundwave. A staunch vegetarian who, being a parent, could often be caught counting Megatron’s number of chews before every swallow like some obsessive tick. At least Starscream, barefoot and evening clothes - looking soft and compliant on his third glass of wine, never made him feel guilty for his meal. Only tried his damndest to eat it and threw a fit when Megatron took a singular bit of the man’s thinly cut sweet potatoes.

“If you wanted sweet potatoes you should have gotten them!” He gaped.

Megatron responded by shoving Starscream off the table and  called all manner of names as the Seeker fell tangled in the nearest chair. Potatoes spilled across his lap.

By ten, they’d exhausted all work-related points of conversation. (Untrue. There were plenty of things Megatron wanted Starscream’s opinion on but the young man continually tried to bring up the new drones he’d been developing and  how beneficial additional funding might be...but Megatron wasn’t about to talk money with Starscream without a lawyer and three witnesses around) He was left to the living room, vaguely directed towards the remote as Starscream left to clean up for the night. In all the times Megatron has stayed in the shiny apartment he never knew Starscream to have a television...so standing there with remote in hand he likely looked a fool uncertain where to point. He tried blindly at first with no luck, and surrendered almost immediately out of concern Starscream might walk in on his failed attempts. Besides, he was enjoying an evening without the infuriating static of computer screens and the news.

Even in the first hour of his arrival, Soundwave had reached out to confirm his location. Megatron wasn’t surprised in the least when responding he was at Starscream’s for the evening that his diligent Third had sent a “Thumbs up” emoji and nothing more, not wanting to discuss his reasons further. Finally a use for Starscream’s unpopularity with those they work with: Megatron being left alone.

But Starscream’s home was, as ever, clean and untouched by any nods of personality. Elegantly decorated from a catalog likely with the word MODERN in block letters sprawling across its covers, he’d always found it strangely empty compared to Starscream’s otherwise garish preferences. He is, after all, the only Decepticon employee to have a mirrored wall in his office and spent half a special projects meeting reviewing color schemes for work-site jumpsuit. Complete with models Thundercracker and Skywarp who looked positively mortified throughout. (When stopped thirty minutes in, Megatron demanding an actual update on the null-ray project Starscream was heading. The Seeker only waved him off saying “Yes, it’s great. Now about the variations of purple” and the meeting went downhill from there)

The lack of emotion in Starscream’s monochromatic home never sat right with him.

A steel and blacktop kitchen overlooked the living room, wide and gray. Wall of windows lining the northern side of the suite. A thin living room decorated with patterned plush chairs and a smooth dark table -- little more. Only so much to keep your attention before Megatron found himself trailing back down the singular hall, passing the cream and stone half bath and towards Starscream’s bedroom. Knowing the Seeker’s first project when moving to Iacon after his hiring was the remodel the two bedroom into one so that the master was as large as the other half of the apartment seemed to be a pretty simple way to describe Starscream’s priorities.

Barefooted, he made no sound entering the open bedroom with it’s intimidating furniture of hard lines and dark paint. Megatron could hear Starscream’s shower going past one of many doors and thought not to disturb him least the young man decide he’s had enough of Megatron that evening. Passed the distant sounds and steam to run fingers over the double doors of the man’s walk-in (practically second bedroom) closet where Starscream was never short a fuchsia suit or gold tipped shoes for flare. Megatron was not permitted to leave any articles of clothing in the Seeker’s home. Not even a forgotten sock could be forgiven as Starscream had made it apparently clear after sending him a photo of said sock being dropped in the trash.

Which was ridiculous, but fair considering Starscream had not even been to Megatron’s home before.

Two red armchairs separated by a short glossy table stood to the right of the bed. A glass f-15 model plane  sitting beneath a red shaded lamp. The only touch of color in the depressing room. Even the long curtains where black, but perfectly clean. No speck of dust would ever be found in Starscream’s apartment. Perhaps that was why he kept it so empty: because he feared strangers might form some idea about him when they came to clean seemingly daily. But one could not know without addressing Starscream directly, and that was a dead end.  

There were a multitude of awards and recognitions the young man had achieved over his years - and these were strangely never displayed as proudly or openly as the multitude of books Starscream kept in his office. Each perfectly arranged by color, not name, where spines were weak and bowed from frequency of use. A collection of first edition prints to frequently updated atlases and technical tomes of geoarchaeology, a past time of the Seeker’s. (Because that’s a normal thing boys who are raised to fly would be interested in.)

Thundercracker and Skywarp’s shared office (not that Starscream’s subordinates / brothers needed one) were covered in signs of life. Souvenirs of their frequent trips together, heinously inappropriate posters pinned to their lab walls. Once Megatron was performing a walk through of the aeronautics division and while waiting for Starscream to be fifteen minutes late to their appointment, caught sight of a photograph balanced precariously in the mess of Thundercracker’s workbench. Simple frame, worn edges like it had been kept along someone’s side for years. Three very different looking young men, two grinning at the camera while the third crushed in the middle was trying his best to share no hint of emotion. As if he would rather die than allow proof that he spent time with his family. When the Seekers arrived, late, dragging Starscream behind the man had nearly broken the photo ripping it from his employer’s hands, hurling it across the room. Quick to distract Megatron with the progress on their long-range USW (that Thundercracker had named “Buster” for some reason.)

As Megatron stood now in Starscream’s bedroom, no sign of life outside of whatever subscription to “square pillows monthly”, he wondered idly who took the photo of the three Seekers that day?

“This is too much,” Distracted in his investigation, Starscream had exited the shower and was standing both irate and mistrustful of Megatron’s presence in his room. Thick black robe belted tight to his lean form, hair damp and curling down unimpressed eyes . “Are you planning on leaving some time this evening, _Sir?_ ”

The only reason Megatron tolerates the exasperated and petty tone is because a drop of water has begun to slip down Starscream’s jawline. Trailing across dark skin and changes course abruptly as it meets the young man’s throat pounding away at the robe’s collar.

“Kick me out.” Megatron answers and relishes in the wrinkles of Starscream’s mouth as he tries not to grin.

“Go take a shower first.” He tries to dismiss the comment and the easy way his skin glows.  And because it suits him, Megatron agrees. Brushing past Starscream and able to catch the Seeker’s throat with quick fingers. Sliding certain and steady beneath the collar to the trail of water from his hair.

“It’s a shame you didn’t think to invite me to share yours.” The touch elicits a full body shiver from the man, thrilled with how easy it was at times to rile up his Seeker. Allowing Starscream to slap his arm away, the scowl something heated and stunned. Moving past the delightful frown to the steamy remnants of Starscream’s shower. Gets the water running from the rainfall showerhead to a sharp heat and begins undressing. His shirt unbuttoned and folded alongside Starscream’s evening clothes on the dry side of the bathroom. His belt then slacks following, pausing on the dark gray fabric when the door behind him opens and he’s unable to rest folded slacks on the bench before Starscream is on him. Easy to hoist onto hips, the man’s robe splitting as damp, warm legs wrap around him as Starscream warns him not to waste all the hot water before biting his mouth.

…

Starscream sleeps like he’s at war. Kicking or swinging an arm across the bed - usually catching Megatron in the face or back of knees as he does so. Careless as a man so used to the expanse of his own bed and the world bending to his rules. The only means Megatron has to protect himself is to grab a limb and drag the Seeker into his arms. Wrap around him tight until Starscream’s light snoring is muffled into his chest, often red and raw from the man’s clawing hands.

He tends to watch the younger man sleep, if but briefly, before himself. Keeping tabs on the dark lashes fretting in slumber, his warm red mouth frowning or pinched in some dream. Best to do so with the Seeker pinned and trapped in his arms, close enough to feel his breath cascade over his collarbone and fall asleep to the even tempo of the man’s pulse.

It wasn’t an entirely terrible way to end the night.

…

By morning, his host was already up before him. Could be seen on the small balcony of the living room as  Megatron makes his more debut, slacks from last night preferable to the alternatives of Starscream’s fickle (and small) closet. Smoke pale and bright against dark skin and a cloudy morning, Megatron makes his way through the lean doors and faces the cold morning wind with bare chest and Starscream’s misery of such.

“Put on a shirt.”

“I don’t have a clean one.”

“Wear one of mine.” He suggests with an awful grin. If it wouldn’t end with his embarrassment Megatron might consider it, just to possibly rip it and upset the Seeker. But it seemed that morning would be a rare occasion as Starscream did not immediately ask him to leave. Instead chewed on the filter of his morning cigarette and turned the coffee mug balance precarious on bare thighs so Megatron could reach. Terrible, bitter stuff, but he drank down what he could and tried to save face by not winching against the sludge.

Starscream’s free hand came to brush the soft hair of Megatron’s stomach and seemed distracted by the cool morning sunrise.

“Feeling better today?” Megatron asks against the Seeker’s temple, in reference to yesterday’s lie.

“No,” Starscream hums, half burnt cigarette crushed against the high cement wall of the balcony. “I think I should stay in bed all day. Recover.”

“Breakfast first.” Because he’s seen Starscream go days with no more nutrients than a pack of menthol and whatever candy he could find on Skywarp’s desk. “Then whatever you wish.” He adds quickly, Starscream’s favorite words, to appease the younger man.

Which is how they end up on the couch, surprisingly demure behavior after eating and Starscream revealed the television was a mirror on the far wall.  The weather channel is calming for a few minutes but not for his host. The local news was a bit better, stories of Prime’s newest call to action against the blackmarket contraband circulating through Iacon and the nearby cities. His hopeful speech from a few nights ago clipped and played when convenient.

“Your ex is loser.” Starscream huffs.

“Our relationship was not of that sort.” Megatron repeats for a countless number of times. Regretting ever telling Starscream about his past friendship with the now-Prime.

“Whatever.” More pouting until Starscream nearly pours his second cup of coffee on Megatron’s head when the man tries to kiss him while Prime is on the television.

Megatron, only lightly scalded, laughs into Starscream’s stomach. Feeling every screech of _indignity_ and _do you know who I am!?_ pulse from his belly. He leaves his head in Starscream’s lap, idly stroking the back of his calf where it’s propped on the coffee table as the news is flipped to a  Kaonese-speaking channel where Starscream makes him translate, even though Starscream also speaks the language. He abides the order only to upset the Seeker when purposefully misinterpreting a conversation. _“And I thought you knew this language. Can’t even do that right!”_ He bites Starscream’s knee to stop his bitching.

By noon, Starscream has tried to smother him to death. First lifting a pillow and very slowly resting it over Megatron’s face before asking if he’s dying? Megatron answers _“Maybe”_ and Starscream says _“Good_ ” while leaving the pillow on.

By one Starscream has Megatron’s phone and is answering emails on his behalf. Not with permission but with Megatron being smothered by a throw pillow, according to the Seeker he’s “dead and in no condition to run a business”. He eventually accepts the terms only because as he types Starscream stroke long fingers through Megatron’s hair and it’s distracting how tender the Seeker can be. Too distracting. He should have known.

His phone make a camera’s telling “click” and the following transition of a text message and Megatron is bolting upright to stop him.

“What did you do?!” He roars as Starscream clutches the phone to his chest, rolling over the couch, and makes a run for it.

“Nothing!” But he’s cackling and using the dining room table as a protective wall. “I just wanted to share how docile you’d become, old man.”

“Starscream!” A warning growl and when the Seeker feints to the right Megatron is able to correct his reach, snatching up the troublesome brat before he can make a dash to the bedroom. It’s simple enough to wrestle the phone from Starscream’s hands, but the laughter stops Megatron hoists the man over one shoulder and giggling is replaced with a furious screech.

“Unhand me!” Truly a damsel in distress, beating useless against Megatron’s back as he carries the Seeker to the bedroom, careful not to drop him before reaching the bed where he lets the man roll off and land with an unflattering yelp. “You could have broken my neck!” Both of Starscream’s wrists fit in Megatron’s hand, simple to snatch them up and press the man back down into the sheets. Legs kicking until sheets tangle around them both. “It was a joke!” He whines as above, Megatron checks what messages have been sent out.

A few expected emails, dictated by Megatron himself and surprisingly unchanged by Starscream. Three password failures to access private data on the phone, and one media message he did not authorize.

A photo of himself from Starscream’s earlier vantage point. A hand combing through his hair, almost relaxed and still. Megatron’s bare chest and stretched arm in unfocused view but his profile - eye closed and on the verge of sleep - was clearly the subject.

The text’s recipient: Starscream himself. (Name changed in his phone as “The Chosen One”, how humble.)

Below him, Starscream colored a deep shade and looked positively mortified. Mouth twisted in a severe pout, looked ready to bite if Megatron got too close with any uncovered flesh (which was most of him at that point). Legs ceased their thrashing and clearly the man had accepted Megatron knew exactly what he was up to.

“You looked fat. It was funny.” He tried to lie and Megatron only rolled his eyes before tossing the phone to the nightstand, keeping Starscream’s wrists pinned. “I was going to include it in the next company letter and…”

“You forgot to turn the sound off, didn’t you?” He grinned, entertained by the Seeker’s botched attempt at stealth.

“You’re so stupid, I didn’t think you’d hear.”

“Oh, do shut up.” Megatron huffs against Starscream’s mouth and he obeys.

…

Sunday morning Megatron relents and attempts to wear a pair of Starscream’s largest jogging tights because the man tells him it’s filthy to wear the same outfit so many days in a row. (Not that Megatron cares, but he would like Starscream to stop complaining)

They cut off circulation to his waist and his thighs look ridiculous -- according to Starscream who can’t stop laughing when he emerges from the walk-in closet after changing.

Megatron snarls and threatens to put on his old clothes and let Starscream suffer him that way, but the Seeker’s demeanor changes as he pulls himself to the corner of the bed. Comfortably naked in the wrinkled mess of dark sheets and Megatron’s attention.

“Well,” He hums as his employer is still reeling from how /small/ the other’s clothes are. “I don’t...hate it.”

“What?” Megatron blinks.

Starscream rolls his eyes and motions for him to come back to bed. “You’ll see.”

…

Sunday evening Starscream falls asleep early, leaning against Megatron’s ribs during a documentary of prehistoric iceland the Seeker demanded they watch. Megatron collects his things and leaves, only nudging the other awake to lock the doors behind him and not to forget about the budgetary meeting they have first thing Monday. The tired Seeker agrees, clearly not paying attention, and rubs a spot on his neck that Megatron spent last night worrying between his teeth --- he wonders if Starscream has noticed yet as it’s too high to conceal with a collar but knowing Starscream he’d find a fashionable way to hide it.

Megatron’s standing at the door while Starscream takes his sweet time rising, groggy after a weekend of late nights and excitable mornings doing very little beyond eating and finding new surfaces for Megatron to lift him onto. Overall it wasn’t a terrible time - less alcohol involved than Megatron expected. Saturday night they ordered cheap Thai food against the Seeker’s loudest complaints and compared the stages of the Hero’s Journey to Macbeth. A conversation for no other reason than to  just to agree with one another. For Starscream to quote Lady Macbeth and take a gracious and sparkling bow when Megatron quietly, but earnestly, applauded his performance.

Starscream whined under his breath and Megatron grunted, a noise demanding he stop it.

“It’s stupid to leave so late.” He repeated, lip curled in annoyance for having to say it again now leaning on the entryway.

Megatron could ask if Starscream wanted him to stay.

He could turn a charm phrase, make it easy for Starscream to accept the offer and pick the man up, carry him off to bed just to /sleep/. It had been...a terribly relaxing weekend with minimal fighting and acceptable levels of bitching from the younger man now looking at him curiously, and perhaps, hopeful as Megatron’s hand hesitates on the door.

If he asked to stay, it would be a step towards something more than this dangerous fraternization they’ve become so accustomed to.

He could offer...

Or Starscream could ask him to stay.

“You’re right. I should have left earlier.” He turns the knob and shrugs his collar up, a sensation of rain creeping into his bones. “Make sure you get some sleep, Starscream. And no more early Fridays.”

There’s a snappish response he doesn’t quite hear as the door shuts at his back a little too quickly, leaving him alone in the hall, chest tight with a strange annoyance. Megatron heads towards the elevator, wondering if any security team keeps track of the ongoings of their tenants lives. Wonders what they might think of Megatron's inconsistent visits.

The brassy elevator doors begin to close on him and Megatron is too busy glaring at the security camera to notice Starscream’s door open down the hall. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fic's true ending: Starscream tries calling into work due to a monster hickey on his throat. Megatron refuses and sends Starscream's "Brothers" to pick him up.
> 
> Which is a terrible idea because Starscream convinces Skywarp they now all have his illness and they spend Monday eating ice cream and watching Vosian movies. Starscream sends Megatron a selfie with the message "See, I'm in bed, totally healing". Tongue out, looking positively devious with Skywarp and TC fighting over ice cream in the background.
> 
> Megatron saves the photo.


End file.
